


Shades of the Past

by LizaGreen



Series: Give me a kiss, Stab me in the Back [4]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne Tries, Hellfiles, Manipulative Relationship, OC's - Freeform, Punishment, Sex Repulsed Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Smart Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Unhealthy Relationships, Why are some people in hell?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizaGreen/pseuds/LizaGreen
Summary: “You went snooping.” It wasn’t a question. Angel gave Husk a slightly bleary look, the alcohol starting to make an effect in his system.“How’d you know?” he asked. Husk snorted, taking a swig from the bottle himself.“It’s the same look most folks get when they do,” he stated. “Let me guess, you found Roxanne’s Hell file.”“That’s oddly specific.” Husk shrugged.“You’d be running for bleach if it were Alastor’s.”
Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Give me a kiss, Stab me in the Back [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677907
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	Shades of the Past

Angel Dust wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t reached Valentino’s number 1 pornstar by mistake, he knew how to get his hands on the most valuable information and use it to his advantage. It was how he had hidden his proclivities towards men from his father for years, ensuring none of his partners would be able to blab. It was the overdose that had done him in, rather than his father, although that may have been partially intentional. He knew nothing lasted forever after all. 

So, when Roxanne LeRoux made an appearance at the Hotel at the beginning of topside September and set up shop in the Radio Demon’s room, he knew immediately what she was doing here. That she got away with half of what she did, he had shrugged off initially as, well, Alastor was probably horny as fuck, unable to get himself off, and so was giving her a little leeway. However, September ended, then October and they were now getting into December and the raven was _still_ here. That was what _really_ piqued his interest. 

He had spent much of his time following Roxie around, just to watch the way the pair riled each other up. The way Alastor would swing his hips _just so_ , then disappear for hours. The way Roxie would trail fingers up his arm while eyeing another demon right across the way and then appear outside that demon’s room some time later. The teasing arguments that would occasionally devolve into something more physical, whether it was a slap or a sudden disappearance into Alastor’s room which just appeared from nowhere. Must be handy to be able to call a room up whenever needed, rather than be reserved to the nearest broom closet, although such moments had ended a month and a half ago. Now they were more likely to part ways than go elsewhere. 

Angel had tried his hands a couple of times over the last three months at wooing the Radio Demon. He could use the bragging rights against Valentino. Each advance was met with the usual threats, at one point even a smack into a wall when he had dared to even poke him teasingly. So, no changes to how he felt about people. This behaviour was solely for Roxie, and Roxie _only._

Unlike Charlie, he didn’t rely on Husk or Niffty. He knew the pair wouldn’t give up any information easily unless they meant to. You didn’t work in the Radio Demon’s employ for long if you had loose lips. Niffty might talk a mile a minute but she had a vast collection of secrets, garnered from even their _laundry_. Angel tried not to think too hard on how she might have learnt that. Husk might be a drunk, but he was careful to not be black-out drunk. He knew what he was doing, allowing demons to pour their drink-laden worries out to him. A bartender that couldn’t hold their alcohol was not worth their keep after all. Instead, he used his own connections. 

Valentino had been pissed he was no longer spending all his time at the studio. His services were his own and with Alastor’s name and presence at the Hotel, Angel had taken every advantage he could out of it. That meant fewer hours at the studio and a chance to learn information from his lessers. The poor abused idiots that stayed were overly eager to spill anything to him if it meant he might help. If he pointed a few towards the Happy Hotel, well that was his business. Valentino couldn’t prove it was him with the tracks that both Alastor and Roxie were making, sold along with the aid of the literal Princess of Hell. Which meant that Angel was quite able to filch the file that Valentino had stolen from Lilith, blackmail the Overlord into silence and happily read to his heart’s content. 

And what a read it was. 

Roxanne LeRoux, maiden name Spencer, daughter of a devout Christian mother and deceased miner of a father. They had lived in the centre of New Orleans, where she had served _favours_ to her step-father and his friends from the age of 10. She had married young at only 16 to a veteran of the Great War (he had snorted at that- considering that the world had quickly devolved right back into war twenty years later, calling it the last ‘Great War’ had been stupid) and newly minted radio host Alastor LeRoux. All information regarding Alastor had been redacted. The list of her crimes was still somewhat lengthy, from adultery, drugs and booze to murder, cannibalism and the drowning of the child borne from her step-father. Angel had skipped that part pretty quick, sickened for the first time since he had arrived in Hell. 

His father had been a mobster, he, himself was no _actual_ angel, he’d seen and done some pretty shitty things in his lifetime, but even he drew the line at the murder of kids. 

He dropped the file discreetly back off to Lilith. Sometimes, you learnt useful things. All Angel had learnt was that Alastor and Roxie had probably been made to torture each other until the end of time. Almost as if someone up there had gone ’well, we made this one really fucked up individual, might as well give him a date’. 

“Whisky, straight,” Angel ordered when he returned, flopping onto the empty bar. Husk gave him a raised eyebrow, pouring out a double portion. Angel tipped it back and slammed it down, gesturing for him to refill the glass. That the cat did. 

“What crawled up your arse?” Husk grunted, eyes narrowed. Angel blinked being giving him a sly grin. 

“Well, you know you could-” Husk gave him a look that screamed ‘finish that sentence and you’ll be next in Alastor’s pot’. Angel let the subject drop, knocking back the drink just as quick as the last. 

“You’ll run out of drink privileges if you get black-out drunk,” Husk noted almost casually, pouring another. Angel considered that a moment. 

“You know, I think I can live with that for a while,” he said lightly. Anything to get the rest of that file out of his head. 

“You went snooping.” It wasn’t a question. Angel gave Husk a slightly bleary look, the alcohol starting to make an effect in his system. 

“How’d you know?” he asked. Husk snorted, taking a swig from the bottle himself. 

“It’s the same look most folks get when they do,” he stated. “Let me guess, you found Roxanne’s Hell file.” 

“That’s oddly specific.” Husk shrugged. 

“You’d be running for bleach if it were Alastor’s.” Now that made Angel want to go digging again. Except, he’d probably learnt his lesson from Roxie’s file. 

“Don’t know about that,” Angel muttered. “You seen what’s in there?” 

“No and I don’t wanna,” Husk growled. “I know enough about the bitch just from her visits.” 

“How come she’s still here then?” Angel asked, curious. “Season’s over.” Husk grunted, the faint sound of screaming sounding from the Hotel doors. 

“That’s why.” The doors suddenly burst open, a female demon stalking inside, eyes wild and crazed. 

“Where is she?!” the demon screeched. “Where is my daughter? What have you all done to my daughter?!” Angel blinked as the dots connected themselves, just as eldritch tentacles wrapped themselves around the demon and threw her right back out the doors, and probably across to the ninth circle as well. 

Probably a good thing the lobby was empty save for himself, Husk and Niffty who had been dusting the tables. Neither of the other two even blinked. 

“Give us another one,” Angel stated, gesturing towards his glass. So much for trying to forget. 

* * *

The thing about Hell was, it didn’t care if you thought you ought to be there or not. Each punishment was made for you, but some people just didn’t think they deserved it. They thought there had been a mistake, that they had been devout to whatever God they believed in and had no reason to be down in the depths of punishment. They were quite possibly the worst of Hell’s demons, the ones that not even Charlie would be able to get through to. Oddly, the Hotel had yet to attract any looking for redemption, although Angel guessed that they would need to think that they _needed_ redemption to seek her out. 

Angel wasn’t stupid enough to go looking for answers from Alastor. That didn’t mean that Alastor didn’t come looking for him. Sometimes, Angel swore the bastard just _knew_ shit psychically. Except he was also sure, that clairvoyance and telepathy were not a part of his skill set. 

“Hello, my effeminate friend,” Alastor greeted him late the next day when Angel finally managed to drag himself out of bed. His head was pounding from a hangover, and his memory was sadly still intact. Lousy Husk, not letting him get wasted. Angel squinted at the manic grin, down to the dish set in front of him. “A little late waking this morning?” 

“What’s this?” Angel asked, poking the meal suspiciously. The one thing the Radio Demon never did, was wait on _him_ specifically. Sure, occasionally, Alastor would cook the meals (assuring Charlie that there were no extra, special ingredients) but _never_ for a sole individual. This he did not trust. 

“Nothing much, dear Roxie was concerned. Wanted you to have a filling breakfast on this delightful new morning!” Angel glanced between the plate, Alastor’s shit-eating grin and the too-casual way Roxie was sat at the other end of the room. He shoved the plate away, deciding that he would rather deal with the punishment than finding out what the pair had added to it. 

“Er, no thanks. Gotta watch my weight, you know, for my viewers,” he stated with a smirk. “I could give you a free show if you like?” The radio scratch told him not to push further. 

“Ah, a wise choice, my good friend!” Alastor stated, snapping the plate away as if it were nothing. Roxie scowled deeply from her corner. “Roxie never was much of a cook!” 

“No kidding,” he deadpanned. The raven demon swept out of the room, looking distinctly displeased. Angel could have sniggered if he didn't still feel like utter shit. The smell of food was doing his stomach no favours either, but he knew better than attempt to flee. Alastor plopped down easily into the seat next to his, accepting a cup of coffee from Niffty, who whizzed by at almost blinding speeds. 

“It is rude to go snooping my dear fellow,” Alastor noted off-handedly. Angel silently cursed letting Husk know, even inadvertently. “If you had been so curious, all you needed to do was ask!” Angel squinted, suspicious. 

“Right,” he noted disbelievingly. “And you’ll also accept my advances and Husk will decide to act like a cat.” 

“Well, he does love a good belly-rub in the sun,” Alastor noted innocently. Angel almost let slip a giggle at how ludicrous this conversation was. It dawned on him, very slowly, that Alastor might be willing to let this go because it had pissed off Roxanne specifically. 

“Nah, I think I learnt enough,” Angel decided, not willing to push it any further. “Just curious as to why you married someone like _that_.” Alastor’s smile remained intact although his eyes wandered, watching the other residents of the Hotel. There was a disproportionate number of prostitutes to others. In one corner, a middle-aged demon whose jaw was held together with bandages wrapped around his head was busy drinking himself into a stupor. Angel watched, curious, as Alastor’s eyes lingered there a moment before moving on. 

“We made a deal,” he said eventually. “She, however, broke it. But, for the sins we both committed, Lilith thought retribution of being tied together past death was poetic justice.” _Well, shit_ Angel thought. There was something dark there, a depth of loathing that made all of Angel’s instincts scream ‘run’ despite not being the target. 

_You don’t break a deal with the Radio Demon_ Angel had learnt, from another worker as he worked to inform himself of their new patron. _You’ll beg for death again before you’d even consider it_. He remembered Charlie’s face, the apprehension and sheer _terror_ that had briefly crossed her face as that green light appeared. The way she had smacked the hand away, arms held up in defence, before using what little clout she had as Princess to physically order Alastor to help, rather than make a deal. 

Alastor’s eyes made brief contact with the sinner in the corner before abruptly leaving. Angel weighed his options, watching the man guzzle cheap liquor and wondered. 

Lying at the man’s side was a rifle. The back of the man’s head held a large x the same size as the one occasionally visible on Alastor’s forehead. Angel decided not to think on it. 

* * *

The demon’s name was Maurice. Angel had honestly not intended to snoop further. He had learnt his lesson, had decided to stay out of whatever fucked up business Alastor and Roxie had. It just so happened that both he and Maurice happened to be at the bar and Husk had dumped responsibility of the wasted demon on him while he poured drinks for the others. Angel tried to point out that he was not, in fact, a member of staff, but was resolutely ignored. 

“It wasn’ my faul’” Maurice slurred, head on the table. That was about the sum of the words he spoke. Angel wasn’t sure what he meant, hesitantly rubbing the man’s back as he hiccuped. “It wasn’...” 

“Uh, sure it wasn’t,” Angel said, confused as to what the demon was on about. Charlie was sat on the man’s other side, trying to cajole him into moving. 

“Of course, it wasn’t,” she said reassuringly. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Er, not sure this is the place for therapy, toots,” Angel pointed out. Charlie ignored him. Maurice blinked blearily at her. 

“Anna had eyes lik’ yours,” the demon slurred, squinting. Charlie blinked. Behind the pair, a shadow with eyes turned. _Uh oh_ Angel thought. 

“Thank you,” Charlie said, taking it for a compliment. “Can you tell me about her?” Maurice blinked again, laying his head back down. 

“Shoulda done be’er,” was the mumbled reply she got. “Dead afore ‘er time.” Angel shared an exasperated look with Charlie. Neither of them had asked to be dumped with the drunk clients of the bar. “Wasn’ my faul’ but shoulda done be’er...” 

“Oh, I highly doubt that!” Angel almost jumped out of his skin as Alastor just suddenly manifested _right there_ , in moments. Charlie let out a small yelp of surprise. Maurice made no sign that he had noticed a new presence. 

“Jeez, could you maybe, _not_ do that?” Angel snapped. “I could have had a heart attack!” Alastor eyed him clinically, one eyebrow raised. 

“Could you indeed?” he asked and Angel scowled at how intrigued he was. “No worries, my dear, I’ll take this poor fellow back to his room!” Charlie blinked, having said nothing. Angel stared. 

“I mean... you can, but I really think-,” she started. Alastor cut her off with a shake of his head. 

“No, no, I believe the best thing for this man is rest and sleep! Isn’t that right, Husker?” Husk snarled from the other end of the bar, flipping him off. Alastor nodded as if this affirmed his opinion, already looping one arm around the demon’s waist and dragging him up. “It’s no trouble really!” They were gone just as quickly as the Radio Demon arrived. 

“That was weird, right?” Angel asked, confused. Charlie just stared at the spot Alastor had once been in and shrugged. 

“It’s Alastor,” she pointed out. “I just wonder...” She paused, noticing at the same time, the rifle lying discarded on the floor. It was old, probably a remnant of the first World War. Angel hadn’t been involved in either, too young in the first and too inebriated during the second, to have much to do with it. But his father had actually been a veteran of the first and had the very same rifle hung over their mantle piece, which he liked to shove either his and his brother’s faces into when he thought they were being idiots. _A reminder_ the man would say, _o_ _f the thanks you owe me_. 

Angel noticed, however, that the initials on this rifle read A.L. and tied round the bayonet was a small scrap of red fabric. 


End file.
